


Vanilla Extract

by Maelstrom_Roots



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Baking, Established Relationship, M/M, No beta we die like wwx, Quarantine, mentions of panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25110553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maelstrom_Roots/pseuds/Maelstrom_Roots
Summary: "When quarantine had started, Harry had been the cool one. But sometime in the last week, a panic had begun to grow inside of him. It had started out small, a niggle of worry deep inside his brain, but had since metastasized into something hungry and unpredictable."Or: Harry takes a trip to the grocery store, and then freaks out about it.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 130
Collections: Prompt 1.4: Extract





	Vanilla Extract

Harry is already halfway to the shops when he realizes this is probably a bad idea. 

They’re a few months into the quarantine and, though the restrictions have been loosened in their area, his quaranteam is still being extra cautious. “All it takes is one idiot thinking he doesn’t need to quarantine just because he has a cough and we’re back in the middle of the fucking apocalypse,” Louis had said a few days ago when they’d stepped outside for their daily walk and seen a man sauntering by without a mask on. Louis had promptly grabbed Harry’s hand and dragged him back to their flat, even though they had only just left and it was the first day that week that the sun had been out. 

People always think of Louis as the social one and he is, but Harry likes people too. He’s like a stealth extrovert. Sure, they have the lads as part of their quaranteam, but Harry misses being able to go to the bakery, misses being able to go to the pub for open mic. Misses being able to take Lou out for a proper date night, the kind with candlelight and trousers with buttons and walks home that take forever because they can’t keep their mouths off each other.

Which is why Harry had come up with the brilliant idea to take Louis out on a date and somehow convinced Liam to lend them his flat for tonight. Not the most glamorous of locales, Harry knows, but, of the members of their pod, Liam has the nicest flat—or at least the cleanest one—so it is his best option right now. 

The preparations had been going perfectly, until Harry went to pull out the ingredients for Louis’ favorite biscuits.

_ H: sos _

_ L: what is it? Are you infected? _

_ H: no. jesus, liam. I just realized we’re out of vanilla and i NEED it to make date night dessert. tell me you have some at your flat. _

_ N: just cover yourself in squirty cream. louis will love it. _

Harry checks the refrigerator.

_ H: we don’t have any squirty cream.  _

_ H: do you have any vanilla extract??? _

_ Z: sorry, mate. we’re not really a baking household. _

_ L: can’t you just use something else? _

Harry puts down his phone, closes his eyes, and lets out a long sigh before picking it back up.

_ H: no, liam. i cannot.  _

When quarantine had started, Harry had been the cool one. But sometime in the last week, a panic had begun to grow inside of him. It had started out small, a niggle of worry deep inside his brain, but had since metastasized into something hungry and unpredictable. 

Which is how Harry ends up on the way to the store. Honestly, it’s like he blacked out. He’d been so focused on making the biscuits that, without even thinking about it, he was out of the flat, ignoring the logical part of his brain. He knows how Louis feels about all of this. How clear he’s made it since the start of this thing where his boundaries are. How angry he’d been with Niall last month when he’d casually mentioned that his cousin had dropped by his flat for a beer. Or how patient he’s been with Doris and Ernest explaining again and again over Facetime why they can’t see each other in person. 

This was shit for everyone, and Harry has it better than most. He is quarantined with the love of his life, and still gets to see four of his best friends on the regular. His family is healthy and financially secure. So what if he has to make biscuits without vanilla? Some people don’t have biscuits at all. 

Harry knows all of this. Still, he keeps walking. He walks past the pharmacy, with a sign stating: “Stay at home. Save lives.” He walks past the shuttered antiques store, and thinks about how Agnes, the older woman who owns the shop, had pneumonia just last year and is particularly vulnerable. He speeds up, as if he does this quickly, it won’t be as bad.

It’s like something has possessed him. Gutted out the parts of him that are usually calm and flexible and able to see the bigger picture and replaced them with a monster. A vanilla-hunting monster who disregards his partner’s concerns about a global fucking pandemic and does whatever the hell he wants. A monster who just needs to be in control of  _ something _ . Specifically, vanilla.

Once Harry’s in the store, he makes his way to the baking section. He snags the small bottle of vanilla off of the shelf, and makes a beeline for the checkout. 

Harry can’t even look the kid behind the plastic barrier in the eye when he hands him his bag after checkout. 

“Thank you,” Harry says quickly, hiding his frown behind his face mask, before making his way out of the store. The door slides shut behind him. He peels his gloves off and throws them in the rubbish. 

It’s done. 

Harry thought he might feel better after the fact, but as he makes the return walk back to the flat, his shamefully light shopping back hanging from his arm, the anxiety is only continuing to rise inside of him. 

*

The biscuits are in the oven by the time Louis walks in the door. He tosses the keys on the table near the door then walks into the kitchen. 

‘Hi, love,” Louis says, standing on his toes to drop a kiss on Harry’s cheek. “What are you making for me?” 

Normally, it’s the kind of cheeky comment Harry would push back against, but not today. Today, all he can manage is a small smile and an “It’s a surprise.”  _ He should just tell him.  _

But Louis launches into a story, and Harry tries telling himself that he can’t interrupt. Even though he knows Louis is just going on. Even though he knows Louis wouldn’t mind.

Panic courses through him. Why is he reacting like this? He knows it’s not  _ that  _ big of a deal, but try telling that to his body. He wishes he could just turn it off.

Meanwhile, Louis is rambling. 

“You’ll never guess who I ran into while I was out.” When Harry doesn’t respond, Louis continues. “Fucking Andrew. From my old work, do you remember?” Harry hums. “He tried to shake my hand, can you believe it? I mean I can. The twat used to steal the lunches you would pack for me, remember? They were clearly labeled. I could never prove it, but I know it was him.”

“Hmm,” Harry says again, trying to figure out if Louis would break up with him over something like this. The quiet, steady part of him knows how ridiculous this thought is, how it has no grounding in logic. They’ve been together five years, and Louis tells him how he wants to spend the rest of his life with him on the regular. But the louder, more insistent part is drowning out that voice until all he can hear is  _ everything is about to fall apart  _ on repeat.

“Harry, are you OK? You look a little peaky, love.” Louis is staring at him, a little crinkle between his brows. It’s adorable. God, Harry loves him so much. 

Harry waves him away. “Yeah. Sorry, Lou. I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” This is true. Harry hasn’t been sleeping well all week. First, it was lying awake next to a snoring Louis, trying to plan their next six months without any masts to hang the sails on. Then, it was lying awake next to a snoring Louis, trying to plan this date night. 

Louis comes over and takes Harry in his arms, rubbing his hands up and down Harry’s back. It feels fucking amazing, but Harry doesn’t let himself relax into it. He doesn’t deserve it. 

“Maybe you should take a nap,” Louis suggests, seemingly ignorant to the maelstrom going on inside of Harry right now.

Harry stiffens further in Louis’ arms, and pulls back so he can look at Louis’ face. “You didn’t forget about tonight, right?”

“Did I forget to cancel all of my non-existent plans the first million times you asked me?” Louis smiles at him fondly. “No, I did not. But we have some time until then. Oh, that reminds me. Niall’s coming over in a bit. Gonna play FIFA. Wanna join?”

“No, I think I will lie down. After this is out of the oven.”

“OK,” Louis says. He moves his hands down to Harry’s hips, a twinkle in his eye. “I’ll give you a blow job if you tell me what you’re making.”

That surprises a small smile out of Harry. For a brief, glorious second, the noise inside of him quiets.

“Nah, I’m just kidding,” Louis continues, delighted that he got Harry to smile. “I’d give you a blowie either way. You know I’m easy for you.”

The doorbell rings, and the panic spikes again.

“Fuck, that’s Niall,” Louis pouts. “He’s early. Rain check?”

Louis darts toward the entryway before Harry can respond, but pauses at the kitchen threshold. “Hey, Harry? You sure you’re OK?”

“Yeah, I’m sure I’ll feel better after my nap,” Harry tells him, trying for a smile. 

Louis hesitates, as if he wants to say something else. But the doorbell sounds again, and he bounces out of the room.

*

Harry does not feel better after his nap because Harry does not take a nap. 

He tries, he really does, but when he closes his eyes, all he can hear is the sound of his heart beating.  _ Has it always been that loud?  _ Harry knows sleep would help. He wishes he could just knock himself out and be done with it.

But he can’t. So, instead, he lies there and mentally goes through the checklist for tonight: candles, record player, dinner tupperwares, dessert tupperware, tablecloth, the fancy wine he’d had Zayn pick up during his last trip to the off-licence. 

There’s a light knock at the bedroom door, and Niall peeks in. When he notices Harry is awake, he comes to stand inside the door.

“Sorry, mate. Were you sleeping? Don’t tell Louis I woke you up. He’ll have my head.”

Harry sits up. “It’s OK, Niall. I was just resting. What’s up?”

Niall comes to lurk near the bed. “Do you still want me to bring Louis over to Liam’s for you tonight?”

“Yeah, that’d be great. 

“7:30 alright?”

“Perfect. Cheers, Niall.”

Niall goes to leave, but pauses at the doorway. “Save me some biscuits?”

“Always.”

After Niall leaves, Harry tries closing his eyes again, but it’s no use. He peeks at the clock on the bedside table. It’s only 4:30, but this isn’t working. Harry throws the covers off, collects his things from their hiding place in the closet and makes his way to the kitchen.

“Oi!” Louis yells from the living room. “Not this time, you fucker.”

Niall’s cackles, obviously beating Louis at whatever video game they’re playing.

Once Harry has grabbed the tupperwares and put them with his other things by the front door, he pops his head into the living room. Louis doesn’t look at him, but somehow still knows he’s there, pausing the game before turning toward Harry.

“You get some rest, love?” Louis asks.

“A bit,” Harry lies, not quite meeting Louis’ gaze. He glances at the TV instead, as if he is desperately interested in the “pause” screen of whatever game they’re playing. “I’m gonna head out, but I’ll see you at 7:30, OK?”

“Still not gonna give me any clues?”

“Nope,” Harry tells him.

  
  


*

By the time the doorbell rings at 7:35, Harry is exhausted. But he has his fanciest shirt on, he’s done his hair. Shania Twain is singing from the record player in the living room, and Harry has managed to create a romantic ambiance with the frankly disgusting number of candles he had brought over. Harry may have a candle problem... He should have checked to see if Liam has a fire extinguisher.

The dinner had done the trick, though. He had been so distracted getting everything perfect for tonight, he hadn’t thought about the vanilla once in the last hour. (OK, the wine might have helped a bit with that too.) All that matters is that Louis has the absolute best time, and then everything will be OK.

The doorbell rings again.  _ Right _ .

Harry bounds to the door and flings it open. It is possible he may be a little drunk. Either that, or the door has gotten way lighter. 

Louis is standing on the other side of the threshold. He’s wearing his bluest shirt—the one that brings out his eyes—and his tightest trousers and he looks absolutely gorgeous. Finally. This date is perfect. Everything will be OK.

“Louuuuu,” Harry whines. “I missed you.”

Louis’ smile is slow, but true. “Hi, darling. Wanna invite me in?”

Harry steps out of the way and throws his arm out in a grand gesture. “Welcome to date night.”

Behind him, the dinner is warm on the table.

Louis wanders in and takes in the scene. His face goes serious. “Harry, you did all of this for me?” he asks quietly.

A stab of guilt pokes at Harry’s tipsy cheer— _ not thinking about the vanilla _ —but he shoves it back down. “Of course,” he says, just as quiet.

“C’mere,” Louis says, turning his back on the table in favor of Harry, and holding out one hand. 

But Harry ignores it. “Nope, time for dinner. Right this way, Mr. Tomlinson. Your date is waiting for you.”

Louis lets him get away with it, dropping his hand. “Oh, is he?” he asks with more than a little sarcasm, moving to his seat. 

“I’m sure he’s just in the loo,” Harry says, picking up the wine. “Would you care for some wine, Mr. Tomlinson?”

“Why not,” Louis says.

Harry spends the next few minutes bustling around, making sure everything is order. Louis asks him to sit down more than once, but Harry always finds something to do. As his drunkenness fades a bit, Harry feels the anxiety at his back, hungry for more, and Harry fears that if he stops moving, even for a second, it will find him.

“Harry.” There is an edge to how Louis says it this time, the good cheer of a few minutes ago all but gone from the room, but Harry can’t help himself. He thought this date night was what he needed—creating the perfect evening for Louis—but, now that it’s here, he finds himself drowning again. He’s just so tired, and he feels so guilty that he hasn’t told Louis about the impromptu visit to the grocery store.

“Let me just change the record,” Harry says absentmindedly, moving towards the end table he found to place the record player on.

“Harry!” Louis yells, and Harry stops in his tracks. When he turns, Louis is on his feet. “Can you stop for one second?” 

“No,” Harry says.

Louis' eyes go wide. “No?”

“No because, if I stop for a second, if I look in your stupid eyes, then I am going to have to tell you how I’ve betrayed you and then you’ll never forgive me and we were having such a nice time-”

Louis cuts him off. “Harry, you’re scaring me. Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Harry brings his hand up to cover his eyes and says it fast: “I went to the grocery store today.”

“OK?” Louis says, but Harry still can’t bear to look. First, he has to explain.

“I know we said we weren’t going to go again until next week, but I started making your biscuits—shit, it was meant to be a surprise, I made biscuits—and I had everything but vanilla and no one else had any so I went to the store even though I know we agreed not to and all I got was vanilla. Not even loo-”

The sound of Louis’ sobbing gets him to stop. He uncovers his eyes. Louis is sitting now, his face in his hands, his whole body shaking.

_This is exactly what Harry had been afraid of, what the voices inside of him said would happen._

Harry goes to his side. “Louis, I’m so, so sorry.” Harry puts his hand on his back, hoping that his touch will be comforting and not the other thing. Then, he realizes that Louis is not crying. “Wait… are you laughing?”

Louis looks up and there are tears in his eyes, but they are not from anger or sorrow. “Are you… apologizing for going to the shops?” Harry eyes widen, which only causes Louis to fall into another laughing fit. He’s obviously lost his mind.

“Louis, this isn’t funny,” Harry continues, knowing he should stop and take a breath, but more desperate to explain himself. “I’ve betrayed your trust. And, besides that, did you know that vanilla extract is like one million pounds right now? Apparently, 80% of the world’s vanilla is grown in Madagascar, which has been experiencing shit weather this year, probably because 2020 is the absolute fucking worst, and-”

Louis grabs Harry’s hands. “Hey, sweetheart. Calm down.” He pulls until Harry is sitting on his lap. “OK, now breathe with me.” 

They stay like that for a few long minutes. The flat quiet, only the sounds of Louis and Harry breathing in and out together. Louis doesn’t look away from Harry once, his thumbs rubbing back and forth along Harry’s hands where they’re clasped in his.

Once Harry has calmed down, Louis breaks the silence. “Did you really think I would be furious? I mean… you went to the shops to buy some vanilla. You didn’t lick a stranger.”

Harry wrinkles his nose. “Gross.”

“Harry?” Louis asks.

“Yeah?”

“This date night…” For the first time in their discussion, Louis looks away. “You’re not getting bored, are you?”

Harry is confused. “Of course I’m getting bored. I haven’t been to the cinema in months.”

Louis’ eyes come back to him. “No. I mean… bored of us?”

Harry lets go of Louis’ hands to grip onto his shoulders tightly, ready to shake some sense into him if he has to. “Lou, no. Never.”

“It’s just… you’ve been so stressed out about it. You’ve been running around the flat like a whirlwind this past week to get ready for it. It seemed so important to you.”

Harry shakes his head. “Yeah, as a way to cheer you up. I know how hard this quarantine has been on you and the other day, at the park, I honestly thought you were going to have a panic attack. And then you dragged us back inside so quickly.”

Louis gives Harry an incredulous look. “Harry.”

“What?” Harry asks, confused.

Louis cradles Harry’s face in his hands. “I dragged us back inside because I thought  _ you  _ were going to have a panic attack. Your breath got all short and quick and you were clenching my hand so hard.”

Harry thought back to that day and tried to remember what his body had felt like. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“I guess it’s possible I’ve been having a hard time this past week.”

It’s only when Louis’ thumbs at a tear off Harry’s cheek, that Harry even realizes he’s crying. 

“Love,” Louis says softly, “you gotta tell me this stuff. You can’t keep it all locked up inside.”

“I know. I just thought… if I ignored it, it would go away.”

“I know I’ve let you take a lot of this,” Louis gestures around at the world before his hands find Harry’s face again, “on yourself for the both of us, and that’s on me. You said we were in this together, and you’re right. You don’t have to be the one making all of the decisions for the group. I can read some articles every once in a while. And the lads aren’t completely useless. You know, they’ve been worried about you too?”

Harry frowns. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Your spiral wasn’t exactly subtle. Do you realize you texted Zayn at 3am the other night to ask if he had any candles you could borrow?”

Harry pouts. “Well, I needed some more.”

They both pause in the conversation to look around at Liam’s flat, currently illuminated by no less than two dozen candles. For the first time all week, Harry feels like laughing. So he does.

*

The following night, Louis invites the boys over for a movie. He hangs curtains up in the threshold between the kitchen and living room like they’re in a proper cinema. He makes tickets out of some notecards they have lying around the house and insists the boys hand them to him before they enter the living room.

“Louis, you literally just gave me this,” Liam says when Louis asks to see his ticket.

“Sir, I’m going to need to see your ticket before I can let you into the theatre,” Louis says with a straight face. Behind him, Harry (who’s already been let into the theatre) giggles into the couch cushion.

“Come on, Lima,” Niall says from the kitchen behind. “Some of us want to get to our seats before the trailers start.”

Liam sighs, shifting his pizza plate and beer so he has one hand free, and fishes the “ticket” out of his pocket. He hands it to Louis.

“Now can I come in?”

Louis studies the card, which just has “MOVIE TICKET” scrawled onto it in big block letters, closely before handing it back to Liam. 

“I’m sorry, sir. This is for the wrong movie.”

Harry erupts in a honk of laughter. Louis beams, like he’s just accomplished something great.

Later, when they’re all snuggled up on the sofa, Harry reaches for Louis’ hand where it’s resting on the back of the couch behind Niall. He waits until Louis turns away from the movie to meet his gaze. 

“Thank you,” Harry mouths. 

Louis brings Harry’s hand up to his mouth for a kiss. 

The monster inside of Harry stays gloriously quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a Wordplay prompt challenge for the prompt "extract". To read the amazing fics that were written by the others on this prompt, [click here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/extract), and to see all fics written as part of the challenge (including years 1-3), [click here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/wordplay_fic_challenge/works). You can also find the masterpost for this year’s challenge [here](https://wordplayfics.tumblr.com/post/622306139518926848/wordplay-2020-every-week-for-five-weeks-a-prompt).
> 
> This story is more about Harry’s anxiety than it is about best social distancing practices around COVID-19. While I am hoping I characterized how Harry’s anxiety causes him to have a disproportionate reaction to the situation at hand (specifically how he thinks it will affect his relationship with Louis), I don’t mean to suggest that social distancing practices or the many intense feelings all of us have felt around the pandemic are a disproportionate reaction to the very real and scary ways this has changed our world. Hopefully, this is cathartic read for some. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to write about some of this stuff—specifically, I guess, living with anxiety during a global pandemic, and living with anxiety at all—until I started.
> 
> This is such a cool idea for a challenge. As someone who needs a lot of external accountability to get writing done and posted, I am looking forward to writing more scarily imperfect fics as the challenge goes on. Thank you to the organizer and thank you to all of you for reading!


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